


LULLABY

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is tired. Blair is working. Jim is. well, *you* know Jim</p>
            </blockquote>





	LULLABY

## LULLABY

by Lace

Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly and others who have mistreated them shamefully but in my heart they are mine, mine mine!

Although I have have been writing The Sentinel for some years now I have a shy and retiring nature and have never had the courage to post anything until today - so please be gentle with me *Whimper!* Un-beta'don't know anyone! All mistakes therefore belong to moi.

* * *

"Sandburg?" 

"That's me, Jim." 

"It's two a.m. Don't you think it's time you got a little shuteye?" 

Blair shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. He briefly lifted his fingers from the keyboard, but he didn't look up. Instead, he yawned widely, an act he immediately tried to conceal by covering the visible side of his face with four uplifted fingers. He then accounted for that by re-deploying said fingers to the nonessential task of pushing his glasses even further up the bridge of his nose. The whole performance would have been comical if Jim had not known just how tired he really was. 

"Things to do, Jim," he murmured absently, leaning in and peering even more intently at the laptop's tiny screen. He made another correction. "You know how it is." 

'Yeah, I know all right,' Jim thought in exasperation. Exasperation tinged with a little guilt. 

Okay, a lot of guilt. 

He killed the television and dumped the remote on the coffee table a little more emphatically than was really necessary, but gained little satisfaction from the juvenile gesture; Blair hadn't even blinked. 

He wondered what to do next, and fidgeted agitatedly with a loose thread on his shirtfront while he considered his options. Then he let out a sigh. Every one of them was dangerous. 

Some of them were dangerous in the extreme. 

"Chief?" he ventured gently at last, carefully searching for the least confrontational way of pursuing the subject.. 

"Yeah, Jim?" The anthropologist's voice was listless and scratchy. And Jim knew better than anyone what scintillating company a listless and scratchy anthropologist could be. Blair Sandburg was so tired that his eyes were almost as bloodshot as Jim's Uncle's bloodhound. 'Goose.' Why would anyone call a dog "Goose?" Somehow he never had gotten his head around the name. 

Jim wanted to go over there and pull the damned plug on the laptop. Wanted to physically manhandle his partner straight into the bedroom. It was a very strong urge, but as much as he liked the thought he knew Blair's reaction would not be one of gratitude. 

Definitely not gratitude. 

He'd have to come up with another idea - employ a few military tactic or two. 

You can do that; you're an ex army ranger. 

"Uh, nothing - forget about it, Chief. Just thinking out loud." 

Sprawling back in his the chair he closed his own tired eyes and began to compose his little speech. Then he pulled it apart and carefully reconstructed it, rehearsing it over and over in his mind. He analyzed every word and each individual syllable until at last he was satisfied that it was perfect.. Something he could be proud of. And it sounded so beautifully innocuous too. 

Non threatening. 

Considerate.. 

Yeah.. 

So go for it, Ellison. Knock yourself out. You can only die once - unless of course you subscribe to Sandburg's Life, The Universe and Everything system of belief. 

And even then... 

_Okay, tough guy, you're on. Procrastination killed the cat. Or it probably would have if curiosity hadn't barged in and done the dirty deed first._

He cleared his throat nervously. 

"Chief? Tomorrow's nothing special. Why not skip coming into the station? It's just gonna be paperwork after all. You don't really need to be there." 

Oops.. 

_Don't_ _Really_ _Need_ _You_

_Bad dog, Jimmy. Bad.. Well, you can't take it back now Ellison; it's on your own head. So stop quaking in your boots and just sit back and take it like a man._

So he sat back and he waited for the words to sink in, occupying himself by counting the holes in the solid red brickwork on the opposite wall. It was an important task after all. A goal he'd meant to achieve. A task he'd meant to accomplish since.. well....time immemorial. He'd only made it to 'nine' when Sandburg threw down his pen and whirled around to face him. 

Nope, just as he'd suspected, Blair didn't look tired at all now. Those blue eyes were _gleaming!_

Jim thought about cringing, but he hadn't quite been reduced to that particular state. At least not yet he hadn't. Still he battled with the instinct to do so. Think Big Tough Cop, Ellison. It would be bad for the image. 

Oh, what the hell was he thinking? 

As if Blair hadn't seen right through that big tough guy image from day number one. 

"Something you want to tell me here, Jim?" Blair asked, softly. 

Softly. Damn, this was gonna be bad. 

Jim kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the wall. There was something peculiar about the anthropologist's face that made him feel distinctly edgy. Something to do with the cant of his head - and the strange way his gaze kept on changing direction. Flitting swiftly between Jim and the door and the wall, before returning to Jim. 

And then it settled on Jim. 

Solidly. Irrevocably. 

Steadfastly.. 

Fixed. 

Right. On. Jim. 

"I'm all grown up now, man. I think I can take it." 

Okay, so it had been a bad choice of words. And he knew who would wear them. And though he really tried for a placating grin he just couldn't invoke one. So he borrowed a grimace one uses in childhood - The Precursor To Pain. 

Because, if Blair Sandburg's current expression was to be used as any kind of indication, there might well be... 

"Now, calm down, Sandburg.." 

"Oh, I'm calm," Blair said, silkily, gifting his partner with a tight little grin of his own. But as he spoke the anthropologist transferred his gaze to something in the vicinity of the detective's left shoulder. 

"So, what's the story, here, Jim?" Blair's voice was still soft and low, but now it was Dangerously Low. 

So low that Jim Ellison inwardly shivered. 

'Why did this happen every time?' The Sentinel mourned to himself. When all he really wanted was for Blair to stop working and get some much needed sleep. Sure, his partner was strong, and his stamina.. well.. he'd been known to describe it himself as the 'stuff that legends were made of' - and God knew he'd been used to long hours before he had hooked up with Jim. But they'd been pulling double shifts for more than a week now, which meant that _Sandburg_ had been pulling... 

_Sleep, Blair. Jesus, I only want you to get some sleep._ But he could not use the "s" word - not if he wanted to live - not if he wanted to survive until morning. _Even incredibly smart Anthropologists need sleep. Hell, even smart-assed Guides with superhuman powers of endurance need a little downtime._

_Down..._

"Y'know," Jim said, quite conversationally - and very naturally too, he congratulated himself - considering the fact that he'd just been zapped by a Very Big light bulb. "It's a beautiful night, and I'm bored with just sitting." Schooling his features into something that just might pass muster as an absence of guile, he hauled himself to his feet. "You've got more stuff to do and I'll only distract you. Think I'll just take a walk." 

And with that he turned his back on his open-mouthed Guide and calmly strolled to the door. 

* * *

He sat in the truck for, oh, seventeen minutes. 

Then he stealthily made his way back to the building. 

And then he walked down the stairs, sauntered into the basement, acquired his primary target, and killed the power at the mains. 

* * *

It was dark when he re-entered the Loft, some twenty five minutes later. 

It was very, very dark and very, very quiet. 

Except for the faint little snores that emerged from the depths of the gloom. 

So he crept up to the stairs and, humming under his breath, took off both of his sneakers and opened the windows. Then he stripped off his tee shirt and his faded blue cut-offs, disposed of his boxers, and gratefully slipped between the sheets. 

It was a very warm night, but not uncomfortably so. And the new sheets were cool.- satin sheets; what a blessing. 

Then he curled himself around his dreaming Guide, tuned in to Blair's heartbeat, and.. 

surrendered.. 

to.. 

sleep... 

_Heartbeat_

_Soft heat_

_Cool sheets_

_Lullaby_

* * *

End LULLABY by Lace: wobbinhood@ihug.com.au

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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